Mending Stitches
by MistressLeia24
Summary: Sorta AU. Sewing was never really her thing. And yet here she was, mending his torn clothes with little white stitches in the cloth. RikuXKairi. Please R&R.


**Mending Stitches**

**A/N: Hello Kingdom Hearts world! I just had a really strong urge to write a RikuXKairi little oneshot and this is what happened.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the story. Square Einx owns all the characters.**

**Enjoy!**

Sewing was never really her thing. She much preferred shopping over the tedious task any day.

And yet, here she was.

Seated on the edge of the empty bed, needle and torn fabric in hand, quick fluid movements quickly forcing the gaping hole in the cloth closed. Her dim cerulean eyes scanned the rest of the vacant room.

It had been untouched for so long. Left uncared for when its owner disappeared into the darkness months ago.

Now, being in here after, she felt like she was intruding on sacred ground. An unwanted visitor suddenly arriving to try and find the closure she lacked. Yet, none of the room's old objects or memories offered any comfort.

None of them could even try to take the place of the silver-haired male.

A lone sigh escaped her lips, her gaze halfheartedly returning to her unfinished work that was only visible by the cascades of moonlight flowing through the dirty window panes.

The ripped yellow shirt in her hands somehow still retained his smell. Rugged yet holding a protective demeanor that couldn't be explained in words. Now that she thought about it, it wasn't really a scent as much as it was a feeling. An aura almost that he gave off.

He was mature, yet held a youthful and mysterious façade that intrigued many, including herself. He was an unsolved mystery with so many layers that you couldn't even possibly dream of knowing the truth.

"Dreaming is for fools," he once stated, "If you spend all your time dreaming you never accomplish anything. You have to act."

And she believed him. At that moment, she had given her heart away and was never taking it back.

Threading the needle through the fabric, the redhead visibly winced when the tiny end pricked her pale finger, leaving only a drop of dark red blood as a mark.

That was another thing. She had never seen him bleed. …Not that she wanted to in any sense but through all the fake sword battles and training he was only bruised, never physically scarred. Even the bruises disappeared in a few days where as the other boy's would stay for at least a week.

…It was quite ironic. She had always thought of the other boy-the one who she did not remember his name-as someone special, overlooking the silver-haired one when they were younger. Yet, in the end, it was the silver one who she remembered and the other one who she forgot.

Pulling the thread taut, the female clipped the remainder of the string off, letting the silver needle fall into one of the jumbled piles of clothes on the cluttered ground.

When he was here, his room was always clean. At least when she came that is. Outfits always neatly filed in his closet, desk organized with everything from pencils to folders having their rightful place, carpet always sanitized, bed sheets crisply folded with not even a dust mite out of place, toy swords painstakingly arranged from size to usage and leaning against the white walls. It was like walking into a smaller version of a mansion with thousands of maids and servants scrubbing ever inch twenty-four seven.

Now, the dust caked furniture, fading and peeling paint on the walls, muddled materials on the unpolished desk surface, stained carpet, and just overall old interior paled in comparison to what it used to be. No one bothered to take care of the little room. They all thought he would return tomorrow or the next day or the next day or the next day… …Until eventually they were considering selling the room for living space of a corner café store.

The female scoffed at such ideas and to prevent such a disaster, had offered to care for the room until its owner returned.

Which he would.

Smoothing the yellow vest on the dark sheet she was sitting on, the girl randomly grabbed another article of clothing from the floor and inspected its status.

Holes, predictable.

She smiled to herself, fishing out another needle from the pocket of her school skirt and began her work again. Her indigo eyes, though, betrayed the forced smile.

Deep inside, way down past the surface, she was crying.

Crying for him and other boy to come home already.

Crying because of the morbid thoughts flashing through her mind about 'what ifs'.

Daintily, the female whipped away the tips of the tears clinging onto her full eyelashes, smearing the little bit of eye makeup that she wore.

It wasn't fair that she was left here, sitting in his room and repairing his clothes for him. Sure she wasn't strong, but she could fight. Fighting wasn't always about strength. He should know that.

Banishing the depressing thoughts clouding her mind, the female resorted to gazing intently at her work. The fragments of textile where they broke off from one another, the blaringly obvious white threads mending the tear, and her now numb fingers constantly pulling on the flash silver running in and out of the material.

How did he get his clothes this way? Sword battles? Heartless attacks? Just from everyday wear-and-tear? Cheap fabric?

From what she may never know.

What was running through his mind then? What was happening to him? Did he think about her? What memories did he have with just these simple rips?

He may never tell her.

…But she could guess. She could guess the memories, maybe make up some false ones, and guess the experiences. Guess that he was thinking about her in the way she thought about him. Assume that he hadn't moved on from her, not just yet.

Sewing was never really her thing. It was a tedious, boring job.

But thinking about him while doing it…

Thinking that he was still alive somewhere and at this exact moment thinking about her too...

It made the job a little more brigther, fun even.

And as she cut off the edge of the thread from the fabric, leaving it as good as new, she thought she heard a faint whisper somewhere, calling out to her.

Maybe it was just her imagination.

Maybe it really was him.

Maybe it was the spirit of him in this room.

She may never know, but one thing is for certain.

She'll keep mending these little gaps in his clothes.

She'll keep preserving the memories kept within them.

….She won't let this one fade away.

She'll hold onto Riku, and mend their breaks in their relationship with little stitches.

Noticeable, but hardly there if you squint.

**A/N: I know, really sappy and kind of sad and all that. I can't help it... I love these kind of stories Anywho, I may write more like this, depending on how you guys and gals liked it. So review please.! Come on, you know you want to **

**Okay, maybe you don't want to. But I would like some feedback on how I did for my first RikuXKairi fic. I hope you all enjoyed it!**


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